It snowed a little today (12/7). It didn’t stick but I still think we should have gotten an impromptu off day. I think we could get rid of some the holidays and install a few new holidays like, first snow day of the season; we will greet each other, “happy first snow” and we would all celebrate by making hot chocolate and eating cookies and snuggle up with pets and warm blankets and this should be mandatory. And for autumn, we will get a holiday as the first golden (or red) leaf comes floating down; and we would greet each other “happy golden (red) leaf day”; let’s go home and kiss our pets on their moist noses; and feed your little kitties. Kitties are always starving even if they were just fed. Aren’t they a joy ? I love cats so much !!

I love  Autumn / Winter. And I like snow in theory, and when it falls fresh and covering up like a new blanket; something soft and rare and cold. I like being cold but with warm feet. I have a electric blanket and somedays I have AC on and with my feet wrapped with the soft warmth of the blanket as it tenderly caressing my feet. And this time around especially Christmas, people somehow remember about other people like something suddenly popped in their mind or an alarm going off, jogging a memory, which seems to say, “oh right, you are also human”. And they become benevolent and generous.

It is the first snow, and Winter season; and something small in my heart is finally warm again. I have vague memories of how I spent the past few years just going through the motions. It felt and feels blank and urgent, and I’m thinking I would never actually feel again. It may sound very trite and extremely stupid – but that is the boring and familiar experience of absence or loneliness. You watch your life just washing up against the panes of your glass windows, and you watch it happening. you see things that should be lovely and warming but it just feels too thin, too flimsy and too unoriginal. I am desperately uninterested in my hobbies, in life and unimpressed by my life. I told myself and often, I don’t know how to find interest in life again. Interestingly when I look back, I always told myself I am ok.

And almost flimsily and shyly, something strange, something ethereal and lovely is burning in my chest, I avoid looking, worried that it will run back into the shadows like a frightened animal, and that I would lose it. Do I dare looking at it ? Could I dare to sink my hands into its fur and feel it’s warmth and feel the slight rise and fall of it’s breathing ? I’m afraid that if it’s real it has the power to hurt me by leaving.